


To Know Him Is to Love Him

by neogenesis85



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Didn't Know They Were Dating, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/F, F/M, Freeform, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, POV Sam Wilson, Puppy Piles, title subject to changing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neogenesis85/pseuds/neogenesis85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam attempts to get back into the dating game, only to realize his love life has gotten a little more complicated than he originally thought… aka that time Sam realizes he might be kind of dating almost half of the Avengers team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky has a habit of popping up out of nowhere.

Sam isn’t the best at the whole spy thing. Yeah he’s military trained, so he has a pretty good idea of who and what is around him. But years out of the service makes him a little soft.

Not to mention Bucky is on a whole different level of disturbing espionage.

He shows up at the VA Center a few times, sitting stiffly in the back during the meetings. Sam barely recognizes him at first because his face is half shadowed by the hoodie he’s wearing.

He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t move. Sam is hard pressed even remembering him blinking the times he managed to catch his gaze. He slips in unnoticed by everyone minutes after the sessions start, and is always gone before they conclude.

These visits usually coincide with texts from Steve saying he might have pushed too hard again. He means well, Sam knows it. But Bucky’s head is in a place even he can’t comprehend. The things that were done to him make his stomach clinch every time he thinks of them. And when the memories become too much, Bucky runs.

Somehow, he always ends up around him.

Somehow, he becomes Bucky’s safe place.

It’s starts at the VA Center and it ends in his apartment. The first time his finds him sitting on his living room futon, in the dark, he damn near has a heart attack.

It gets easier from there. Sam manages to salvage the bag of takeout Tai food he dropped in his quick scramble for his knife. Bucky answers his queries with a subdued ‘sorry.’ Steve calls, panicked, and he lets him know his bff is fine and maybe might have a thing for spring rolls.

It becomes a regular thing. Bucky shows up, Sam orders out (or occasionally they have breakfast for dinner because that’s about the only thing he can’t ruin while cooking and you can never go wrong with pancakes and bacon.) He has mostly one-sided conversations with the rare none mono-syllable response from his guest. Bucky always hand washes and dries the dishes (even though he’s explained the dishwasher to him one time too many.)

They camp out on the futon and Sam pulls out his dusty first gen Nintendo, because if Bucky’s going to get caught up you have to start from the basics (and of course he’s eerily good at Duck Hunt and Sam finds himself hiding the gun controller just to save face.)

They eventually graduate to Play Station and Xbox and discover war games are a little therapeutic for him (he’s not all surprised that he’s disappointed with Halo but chews through several Assassin’s Creed games like candy. He tries Metal Gear once, but triggers are just that and those disks soon end up with the same fate as the gun controller.)

Sam often finds himself waking up with his legs entwined with Bucky’s after a long night on his pseudo couch and they pretend to ignore it over coffee in the morning, because they might not be 12 anymore but sleepovers are still cool. That’s if Buck doesn’t go completely ghost by the time the sun rises.

Then he finally lands that date with the VA receptionist.

And that date turns into a weekly thing. Which eventually turns into them stumbling into his apartment, all roaming hands and mouths and beer numbed tongues meshing together and of course Bucky is there.

Of _fucking_ course.

Things get weird after that. Carla leaves in a cab not soon after, a little unnerved but understanding of the ‘he’s just a friend… with issues’ spiel. Bucky leaves right behind her (out the window because what are doors?) and Sam looks down at the tented crotch of jeans and realizes that this is a reoccurring problem. And certainly not just a Carla kind of problem.

::

Bucky doesn’t come back.

Sam finds himself on the other end of the sympathetic looks he used to give Steve whenever Buck would pull his disappearing act.

Carla occasionally asks what happened to his boyfriend and Sam is too upset to correct her assumption. (She always gives him a knowing smile when she does though, and he can’t quite figure out how to explain that Bucky might not be the _only_ one that ruined their almost relationship. Because his life was complicated before Steve literally ran in to it, and now that he’s got Asgardians on speed dial and Stark revamping his wings ─ there’s talk of nanos and he’s not entirely sure if that thrills or terrifies him ─ and all manners of fallout from S.H.I.E.L.D. being compromised… Bucky ruining their after dinner humping session might have been a good thing… Also, he’s not his boyfriend.)

::

But then days turn into weeks, which turn into a month and Sam finds himself really missing Bucky’s stupid face.

::

”Just talk to him,” Steve says after awhile, “I’m pretty sure he misses you too.”

Sam is pretty sure that he’s drunk. And he’s even more sure that he’s pissed off because this was supposed to be a party and all he’s been doing is mopping around drinking the bourbon Steve has no interest in.

”He’s avoiding me.”

Steve gives him a look that he knows is going to turn into a talk once he sobers up. Sam ignores it, while frowning over at the man in question that’s sandwiched between Natasha and Clint on a loveseat that’s way too small for all three of them (and looking all manners of put out about it, but Clint and Nat obviously could care less. There’s a bottle of vodka being passed between them and Sam finds himself being envious of it─ and _wow_ he really needs to get laid.) He has half a mind to go over there and stir things up, but there’s no need to drag anyone else into their uncomfortable situation. Plus he’s not entirely sure he’d be able to walk without making an ass of himself.

Steve shakes his head while snatching the almost empty tumbler out of his hand. “You two are hopeless.”

Sam almost protests his loss but the frown on Steve’s face halts all thought of it. Bruce breezes by, dropping off a glass of iced water with a few slices of cucumber in it and Sam downs half of it in a few gulps, totally knowing that’s a Pepper thing (because who else is going to add cucumbers of all things to the filtered water?)

Moments later Jane and Darcy saddle up along with a bottle of prosecco and things get all kinds of fuzzy afterwards and no amount of _Captain America’s Super Disappointed_ looks are going to stop him.

::

The next morning he wakes up with a throbbing head and one half of his face cold from sleep drool. He doesn’t know how he got home really, but he does know whoever is ringing his doorbell is about to catch a whole world of hurt.

He stumbles to the door, not even looking through the peephole to see who it is, just unlocking everything, cursing the whole while. The doorknob hits the wall with a resounding thud because he opens it up too forcefully.

And there’s Bucky, standing there all apologetic and puppy faced.

”Really?” Sam deadpans, because this is the first and only time the metal-armed asshole has used the actually door and he’s certainly not in any headspace to hash out their issues.

Bucky holds up a bag. “I got a Wii. You know how to play Mario Kart?”

Sam takes in a deep breath, looks him over and exhales before tilting his head back to let him know he can come in.

::

Bucky attempts to set the system up.

Sam makes coffee.

Bucky curses in Russian under his breath, his hands tangled with cords.

Sam scraps butter on an un-toasted bagel after a shower.

Steve sends a text, and Sam figures out that he might have set the whole thing up. And he’s not even mad. Because Bucky trying to apologize without actually apologizing is something he almost wants to Vine.

Sam completely annihilates him or course, because he’s pretty sure he’s the undefeated champion of Mario Kart (though he hasn’t played against Natasha before, so he won’t be going around proclaiming that title to the masses any time soon.)

Somewhere between that and a few ibuprofen pills killing off his hangover and a pizza being delivered, he and Buck are all sweaty and lipped locked on his hard ass futon.

And, though Sam isn’t quite sure how it all starts, he figures this might be the best sleep over ever.

::

Also, Carla might have been right about the whole boyfriend thing.

(And on another also, it’s Maria that holds the MK Champ award ─ and they all find out the hard way.)


	2. Chapter 2

He’s in Target one day, looking for un-scented shampoo when he realizes he’s not even shopping for himself.

It stops him short, face still scrunched up in a frown over the ridiculous pricings, and it takes a few moments for his brain to reboot after the revelation.

He’s only had one serious relationship in his life and that never progressed past the leaving a toothbrush in the bathroom medicine cabinet stage. There was a time he wasn’t used to sharing his space with another person… But then fucking Captain America and his rag-tag group of superhero rejects happened.

Glancing over the items in his red shopping cart, Sam remembers he only came there for more disposable razors. But those stupid chocolate turtles that Clint likes were on sale. And he was really tired of finding his sock drawer being raided by Steve, so Fruit of the Loom was in order. Buck has a thing for canned pastas (Sam chalks it up to years of being a solider. He remembers eating the worst kind of processed crap the first time he was on leave. Years of mess hall slop and MREs doesn’t exactly build a discernible palate. And though there are years of differences between their war tours, that’s one thing that hasn’t change. Also, Spaghetti-Os are really good.) Nat had a preference of not smelling like anything after a shower (because hello, super spy and all) so he finds himself stocking up on fragrance-free everything soap related.

Hence the hair isle.

And yeah, he hasn’t even gotten his razors yet. But the cart is full of crap for people he’s not entirely even sure he likes (okay, that’s a lie)… but sure do spend an unnecessary amount of time at his place, even though his name is the only one on the lease and they all have much better digs at Tony’s newly Christened (and totes not overcompensating for anything) Avengers Tower.

“Mother fuc─”

His phone rings, sparing the old lady a few feet away from his curse and sparing him from her judgmental look. He fishes it out of the pocket of Steve’s leather jacket and answers without looking.

“ _Tampons_.”

His frown deepens at Nat’s voice.

“What?”

“ _I need tampons. The non-applicator kind. Also you need some disposable pie pans. Clint’s trying to salvage that roast chicken carcass in your fridge_.”

Sam doesn’t even know where she’s been the past few weeks, but he’s pretty certain he locked everything behind him _and_ set the alarm before he left. But what really burns his ass is that he doesn’t know how she knows he’s shopping.

And this isn’t the first time. He may or may not have a habit of checking himself over for the tracking devices she obviously has to be planting on him (honestly he starts to figure it might be an implant… there _was_ that unexplained sore spot on his right ass cheek a few months ago and things got really awkward during his paranoid attempt to get someone to check for him.)

“Okay?”

Nat hangs up without replying, and Sam dutifully makes his way over to both the feminine hygiene and kitchenware isles. Standing in the checkout line he starts to ponder if there’s some way all these purchases can become a tax write off.

::

There’s a glass of wine waiting for him when he walks in his door. Clint hands it to him while simultaneously snatching a few bags out of his hand. The whole place smells like sautéing onions and garlic and his stomach gives an aggressive rumble. He doesn’t realize how hungry he is until then.

And that tampers his irritation a bit. Clint could probably open up his own restaurant if he wanted; he’s that good in a kitchen.

Sam hangs up Steve’s jacket (he starts leaving it there whenever he’s away on missions and Sam figures it’s an excuse for him to come back. Not that he’s complaining though. And he definitely doesn’t enjoy wearing it or misses him or anything. It’s just convenient, okay? Shut up.)

Nat’s in the living room camped out, bare feet tucked under her with the TV going, a bag of chips on the table and an entire liter of peach soda he already knows she won’t share.

Sam dumps the rest of the bags on the kitchen breakfast bar before heading her way, glancing at the flat screen.

“Real Housewives?”

“Yup.”

She shifts over on the futon and he settles in next to her while Clint putters around in the other room. He kind of wants to call out to him to find out what’s on the menu for the night, but he’s not sure if the guy’s hearing aids are turned up enough to hear him (he really has no love for reality TV, though Natasha can mainline an entire season of Top Model without even moving) or if he’s wearing them at all (and Sam’s not sure what to do with the realization that he’s comfortable enough around him and in his place to do that.)

An episode and a half in, Clint slinks in and plops down next to him, throwing his arm carelessly around his shoulder.

“Pies are almost done,” he says as he leans forward enough to snatch up Sam’s almost empty wine glass off the coffee table. “Can we change this crap?”

Natasha tosses the remote his way before getting up to unpack the rest of the Target bags. Clint flips aimlessly through channels before finally settling on the news.

“So,” Sam starts. “Pies?”

“Yup, my Aunt Tina’s pot pie recipe.”

He nods, grabbing his glass back to finish off the last few sips. The weather comes up and they watch silently for a few minutes.

“Temps supposed to drop down tonight.” Clint says after a while.

Sam already knows where this conversation is heading and he’s shaking he head without even consciously thinking about it.

“No Barton! It’s not gonna happen.”

Clint’s face gets all adorably scrunched up.

“Come one, just for the night? You don’t want him to freeze out there, do you?”

Sam tries to pull off the _Unmoving Parental Unit Face_ his mother was notorious for.

“That mangy mutt still has some fur left. It’s not going to get below freezing. He’ll survive in that… that _thing_ you built him.”

(That _thing_ was a thing he salvaged out of some balsa wood, a few nails and the pillows and flannel sheets Steve and Bucky destroyed in some erotic escapade that Sam is still pissed he wasn’t there for. Clint claims it’s a dog house. Sam is just glad his backyard is surrounded by an 8 foot fence so his neighbors won’t complain about the complete offense of it all.)

Nat breezes back through and reclaims her previous spot, this time settling her legs on both their laps.

“It’s name is Lucky. And he likes Vienna Sausages.”

Sam doesn’t ask how she knows this. There’s already a bag of dog food that’s sitting in the corner of his laundry room for a dumb ass animal that only really likes Clint (who’s hardly ever around.) And sometimes Bucky. But defiantly not him. And it’s not fun when he’s trying to feed him and he’s growling over his food bowl (that once was a soufflé thing that his sister got him. He knows he shouldn’t be so upset about a dish he’s never had a use for, but it’s the principle of it all that gets him huffy.) Knowing it’s preference for canned meat that isn’t specifically dog food related is just a little too much for him.

Clint’s hand slides up the leg of Natasha’s pajama pants absentmindedly, stroking her skin with his thumb.

“Just for the night? He won’t make any trouble.”

Sam almost rolls his eyes.

“I think you’d better check those pies. They smell like they might be done.”

It’s a poor attempt at a change of subject, but Clint doesn’t call him out on it. Instead he squeezes his shoulder briefly before hauling butt back to the kitchen. He and Nat share a look when he’s gone, and all she does is shrug her shoulders before asking him to pass back the remote.

::

Hours later he wakes up from a nightmare and Nat’s standing in his bedroom doorway in just a tee and her underwear.

The sight of her chases away his thoughts of Riley and endlessly falling. He sits up while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“What’s up?” He asks.

There’s enough ambient light coming through his curtains to catch her smirk.

“Barton’s snoring.”

It’s a lie. Sam knows it just a much as she does. None of them make that much noise while sleeping. They wake up from it just as quietly as they fall into it (when it actually comes… all of them are case studies for insomnia) unless of course those bad memories start reeking havoc on them.

He figures she heard his thrashing. It’s not the first time and won’t be the last. But Steve’s not there to sooth him back to sleep, so he throws his sheets and comforter back as in invite and she slides in the bed with him.

They spoon, her very well shaped rear pressed hard into his crotch. Her feet are cold, but he ignores that in favor of catching the scent of Clint’s favorite aftershave clinging to the space where her shoulder and neck meet. His hand slips under her shirt and he suddenly thinks he really misses breasts.

“You need a girlfriend.”

Her voice is all husky with sleep and that really does a thing to him.

He buries his face in her hair and takes a few seconds to reply.

“Working on it.”

There’s an implication there. But neither one of them call it out.

::

Clint’s flea ridden dog is sitting on the side of his bed when he wakes up later.

The dog’s owner is also wrapped around him like a koala with one hand shoved down the front of his boxers and it’s still one kind of wake up he hasn’t gotten used to.

Sam stays awake long enough to hear Nat and Steve’s voices drifting in from the kitchen (and wow he’s back and he’ll be able to properly great him once Clint stops acting like they’re attached twins) and there’s the smell of waffles or crepes being cooked drifting in the room.

He eyes the maybe lab, maybe retriever mix with narrowed lids and all it does is licks it’s chops after an unimpressed yawn, before settling down on his hardwood floors that already have too many scratches and grooves in them.

There’s no way he’s getting his security deposit back.

And he’s gonna have to bomb the place.

::

After breakfast he heads to the shower, only to realize he forget to get his razors.

But he’s been making due with Nat’s lady Bics for a while now. So he’ll live.


	3. Chapter 3

The hunt for that guy who once was one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes turns into something more along the lines of 'Holy hell, why does HYDRA have so many sleeper cells?'

Before they start the search officially though, they head to New York long enough for a real Reuben sandwich, do some damage control on the whole dismantling of S.H.I.E.L.D. (on Tony's _and_ Maria's insistence) and for Steve to maybe have his last visit with Peggy.

(Sam only meets her briefly, but apparently it's long enough for her to catch a hint of something going on between the two of them. She brings up the whole fondue story and Sam is able to witness Steve's blush before his super soldier serum kicks in. It's kind of adorable. And he has to catch himself, because crushing on Captain America would be just sad. But just like Carla, Peggy has that look that lets him know he's pretty much denying what is already a lost cause.)

Then begins their Eastern European tour that leaves Sam increasingly uncomfortable and gives Steve a crash course in how much the 21st century has remained the same when it comes to prejudice thinking. When he's not getting mistaken for famous basketball players or Will Smith (and, really? Ignoring the fact they look nothing alike, couldn't they go for someone cooler? Like Denzel or, say, Billy Dee?) he's being not so subtlety reminded that his kind aren't so welcomed.

It's not that he isn't used to it. He got enough of it growing up in Harlem, which was one of many reasons he moved to DC after leaving the service (mostly it was the fact that there was just too much going on there. The noise. The unpredictability of it all. His family trying so hard to get him to be that guy he was before he signed up with Uncle Sam and strapped on a pair of wings. He, himself, trying to be that person and still not wanting to admit that maybe he came back with some baggage that would need some professional help to sort through. And of course the freaking NYPD, because walking around with your hands in your pockets during winter was enough cause for suspicion if your skin had the wrong amount of melanin.)

So yeah, sometimes being the black guy sucks. But it particularly sucked in East Europe.

::

Steve gets a bit intense about it. Often times going off on rants in their too small hotel rooms (that Sam sometimes would have to wait outside for Steve to book.)

Sam's of the impression that it is what it is and that they have more pressing things to worry about, like the slowly cooling bodies of HYDRA agents that Bucky's leaving behind like a trail of bread crumbs. But Steve hasn't met a battle he was willing to back down from yet, and apparently his not so warm treatment was the theater of war he's touring at the moment.

It's a distraction. A way for him to channel his frustrations about Bucky into something productive, even if it does get them kicked out of bars while looking for intel or has them huddling together in the back of a "barrowed" car for warmth because the lady running the hostel they tried checking into said something not so nice about him.

But the tirades start to get a little exhausting, even if he doesn't mind hearing about the things Jones and Morita had to go through (because who's going to be stupid enough to turn down actual anecdotes about the Howling Commandos? Plus, Steve can talk a lot. So those stories usually take a turn to the shenanigans the lot of them would get up to ─ though Bucky's name never seems to come up during the reminiscing. There's a festering wound there that Sam is slowly and carefully trying to drain because if he doesn't, Steve is just going to rot away in his misery. And Sam cares about him enough to not see that happen. He knows what it looks and feels like. And being one or two steps behind the one person Steve wants more than the breath in his lungs is taking a toll on both of them. He tries to hide how much he dies a little inside with every dead end and every pilfered file that details the extreme hell Bucky has gone through in the past few decades. But Sam has seen broken enough to know the warning signs.)

Which is why Steve's fight against racism isn't the worst way he can channel his frustration. But when he starts quoting people like Hosea Williams and Assata Shakur verbatim (Sam still doesn't know how he's found the time to read up on them while they've been dodging bullets) he figures things are getting out of hand.

One night in the Czech Republic, after being seated at a table for dinner but not receiving service for half an hour before they eventually just leave (doesn't stop Steve's from voicing his complaints, and at this rate they will never be able to maintain a decent cover because he _always_ goes full Cap mode whenever he gets a sniff of injustice) Sam finds himself really tired of the spiel and pulls Steve, mid-sentence, into the night shadows of an alley before planting one on him. Just to get him to shut up (that's his excuse and nothing is going to change that.)

For such a giant man Steve's oddly acquiescent. His lips go slack against his while his body looses the tension his quick handling caused. And Sam figures that this is probably not being received the right way. Yeah, he's been thinking about kissing him for awhile now (a long while if he's being honest with himself) but this _might_ not be how he should have gone about it.

"Sorry," he says when he pulls back. "I should have asked."

He starts to move the hand gripping the back of Steve's neck away, but is stopped.

"No, it's okay." Steve's cheeks are a flushed, but his eyes are focused, and the hand holding his wrist is firm and sure. "Kind of been working up to doing that myself."

Sam huffs out a little laugh that's cut off too soon because Steve's lips are back on his, insistent and sure this time around. All the frustration that was running rapid through his head melts away as Steve grips the lapel of his wool coat with his free hand and pulls him closer.

::

Come to find out kissing Steve is a really good way of shutting him up, and he employs it often.

Once, after a really intense moment that takes a turn for the best, Steve recounts fondly that Bucky would actually just tell him to shut up. A lot.

"In fact it was one of his favorite phrases," he says with a slight roll of his eyes. "But your kisses might be a better way."

Sam just grins, because he's finally discussing Bucky without a pinched, worried look on his face. And if screwing the hell out of him (or vice-versa) is what it takes to get him to open up, Sam is _so_ game.

::

Ultron happens.

Sam's not there for most of it because his wings aren't functional yet (Stark refuses to hand them over until they are perfect, which is why he and T'Challa are still negotiating over the patent and using vibranium to make them just that much better. And Tony won't be satisfied with the new wing pack until that happens. Which means he's still grounded until further notice. And no, he can not just hop into one of the newly built Iron Man suits as extra backup.)

So he goes back to his empty house and tries to distract himself from the fact that Steve is dealing with something he can't be there for, because he's the only one with a real civilian life. Despite the fact that his face has been plastered all over TMZ and too many social media sites after the whole Insight fiasco.

The VA isn't able to fill that anxious void in his gut (especially now that most of his cases have moved on to other counselors since he and Steve started a marathon on getting their passports stamped as much as possible, so he's mostly just handling group sessions.)

Natasha keeps him updated as much as she can via texts while everything is going down. And when that goes cold, Maria is there with even more vague information.

He and Pepper don't know how to do useless so they bond over it, the both of them worried over boyfriends' (and a maybe girlfriend in his case) as they're off saving the world.

Again.

Without them.

::

Steve eventually comes back, beat up to all hell and it's a look on him that Sam really hates. He remembers him in that hospital bed, unmoving and so torn apart that it was only Erkine's serum that kept him alive.

He's not that bad this time off though, but it's still enough that Sam maybe freaks out internally just a little.

They shower together, hands and tongue and teeth wondering in ways to attempt healing (both physical and mental) and Sam can't even articulate how grateful he is that he's back and mostly alright. So he expresses it by pulling him tighter when the water streaming down becomes too much between them.

::

In the end, it's Natasha that brings Bucky back.

He and Steve aren't able to understand the how and why of it. All they get out of Nat is that she knows him. Knows him a lot more than the info she'd given Steve.

(There's mention of a Red Room and it sounds just as horrible as Sam imagines it to have been once Nat eventually opens up about it. Which only reinforces his belief that they all need constant therapy.)

Either way, it's obvious that Buck and Nat have something going on, with the way they whisper in Russian to each other and how she's the first one he's comfortable enough with to touch and be touched by.

::

A few weeks later they all come to the agreement that he needs a new, bigger bed.

It shouldn't be workable, the four of them meshed together on his queen sized mattress, but there is a level of comfort in the shared space that has their arms and legs tangled more and more together as the night goes on.

It's the best sleep they all get in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn’t expect the response I’ve gotten for this story. This started as just a prompt my brain came up with that I ran with because of severe writers block and my love of Sam. I didn’t think it would get this far (it was supposed to be a oneshot) and I really didn’t think people would like it so much.
> 
> So thanks so much for the reviews and encouragement.


	4. Chapter 4

The move back to New York is a lot more than he was planning on.

It takes time for him to settle all his affairs with work and to finally talk his landlord into a monthly lease while he packs up his whole life to be shipped off to his new place.

But it’s a long time coming. He’s spending more time at the Tower because they apparently think he’s good enough to be a part of the team. And for whatever reason they like him. Like really like him. Really like him enough to the point where sleeping situations should probably be written down on a schedule.

He’s become a popular guy. And he almost feels flattered by it aside from the fact that the house he’s renting isn’t nearly big enough for the lot of them when they all decide they want to crash there. He puts up a good fight, but even he knows is a front.

Still, he doesn’t plan on actually living in the Tower. As generous as Tony has been with the whole housing and playing benefactor to America’s greatest defenders, Sam can never find himself getting comfortable there. It’s still a little too rich for his middle income blood. So he spends some time shopping around for a place that’s close enough to the team, but far enough that he no longer feels like he’s camping out for the summer in the country’s most expensive tent.

Because that’s essentially what it’s like. The team is… well they can become a bit much. There are new faces now, new egos and conflicting personalities that still need to be sanded down around the edges before the pieces are able to fit properly. They get along just fine, even with the occasional hiccup, when there is a mission to worry about. But downtime is always tricky. There’s nothing left to distract each other from lingering tensions that battle forced them to put aside. And he knows that in order to keep his sanity, he’ll need a place of his own to go to in order to decompress.

Also, he doesn’t plan on becoming the group counselor. No matter how much Stark whines about it and offers to pay him for it.

But apartment hunting in the NYC always sucks. He does most of it from his laptop, scrolling though so many listings that he starts to develop a tick in one eye. The prices are outrageous for spaces that are usually no bigger then his living room. The few promising spots he finds are usually shot down quickly by Barnes (who has shown a complete lack of interest in his computer or the old tablet he’d given him. But _always_ hovers over his shoulder if he’s using them, as if Sam Wilson checking his time line or playing Candy Crush is the most fascinating thing in the world.) Most of his reasoning is for security purposes, which Sam can easily concede to. There have been enough close calls with various assholes coming out of the woodworks to cause them personal trouble since they’d gone public that he isn’t willing to risk it. And when Bucky says something isn’t secure, everyone tends to listen.

(As much as Bucky tries to commit to being a technophobe he really isn’t fooling anyone. He’s adapt enough at it to find a blind spot and bypass JARVIS that one time. Just to prove a point. Sam’s not sure if he’s been getting secret lessons from Nat or if it’s some remains of his forced conditioning that he hasn’t spoken about, but the act alone is enough to cause another rift between Steve and Tony, who are always butting heads over something. Mostly about how much Bucky can/can’t be trusted.)

The hardest hurdle is finding enough space. He’d surrendered long ago to the fact that no matter where he ended up there was going to be at least one other person bunking down with him any given night.

Steve, even with his busy world saving schedule, would always be there on his off time. Bucky was a sure bet (mostly because he really didn’t care too much for the Tower… or Tony… and he kind of got banned from the place unless he presence there was vital for a mission. Sam never thought an AI could hold a grudge, but whenever Barnes was in the building JARVIS let it be known he wasn’t happy about it. Tony still hasn’t found a reason why Bucky got stuck in the Hulk proof service elevator for half an afternoon not long after the break in incident, not that he really tried to uncover the fault. Sam tries not to freak out too much about the fact that there’s a computer that’s able to hold a grudge running an entire building, housing some of the most dangerous people in several galaxies. Because as much as Tony swears JARVIS isn’t capable of any type of behavior outside of what he’s programmed for, there is no way anyone can convince Sam that JARVIS isn’t being passive aggressive and petty. He ─ _it?_ ─ was Tony’s brain child after all, so as far as Sam is concerned his worry is completely legitimate.)  
  
::

He almost hires a realtor to do the hard work for him when a carrier show’s up in the cramped office he shares with three other people at the VA center, a bicycle helmet under one arm and a package in hand.

He’s signs off for it, eyes the Stark logo on the manila paper with a small amount of trepidation before opening it to see what Tony sent him this time. It’s not thick enough to be the usual tabloids he gleefully mails with little post-it notes marking the more interesting gossip on Steve and who he’s supposedly banging any giving week.

(They actually break Twitter the time some lucky tourist manages to get a pic of Steve groping his ass through his sweats during a break in one of their runs. This happens a few days after the paparazzi followed him and Sharon around Manhattan during their third date, which was holy unsuccessful because of their intrusive presence. Steve is unimpressed with the amount of attention his love life is getting. Sam and Sharon are still laughing over the fact that she’s apparently his beard and how he has the GOP split down the middle with how they want to deal with his ‘unconventional’ tendencies. All this happens right before election time. And nowhere during the many discussions has the word bi come up.)

There’s a note clipped to several printouts of what have to be penthouse apartments. None of them are as ostentatious as everything he’s been trying to avoid despite his bank account being padded with ‘compensation’ for being an Avenger. He looks them over; actually a bit curious over the photos before reading the letter Tony had hand written in a scrawl that was barely legible, probably because he rushed to do it.

>   
>    
>  _All of these fit your modest boy aesthetics and will also house the harem you’ve been collecting. Pick one so I can write the check and you and the rest of the dream team will be here full time already. Since you’ve become everyone’s true north and the only way to keep them here is if you stay longer than a weekend, overachieving bastard._

Sam stifles a laugh, tosses the papers aside to scrutinize more later when he’s home, and goes back to his work computer. He has a Marine that’s trying to figure out how to pay for school and he’s got a list of scholarships for her that need to be printed out.  
  
::

He eventually settles on one of the choices that Tony sent over; the top floor of a walkup with roof access and two large bedrooms he could get lost in. Natasha and Bucky both approve, and Steve doesn’t care as long as he knows where it is and his best guys will both be there.

When Clint hears about it, he hands him a pre-paid credit card and a list. Most of the things on it are for Lucky, which Sam doesn’t even bat an eye at. He and the dog have come to a compromise by now. As long as he supplies the Vienna sausages, they get along just fine. Junk food is always a great mediator.

Tony does more than write a check… he buys the entire building and the three surrounding it.

Sam has no time to worry about the few unsavory people that are quietly removed from the properties or the payoffs to those few tenants that don’t want the trouble of living doors down from openly known danger magnets.

He has his life to wrap up in DC, which he tries to get done as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Of course two weeks before the movers are supposed to come, a crisis comes up and he takes a bad landing after saving Natasha from a fall that would have killed her otherwise.

He laments the fact that he’s attached to a bunch of jerks that seem to thrive on jumping from suicidal heights as he’s laid up in a hospital bed eyeballing the x-ray that clearly shows the break in his ankle.

He gets a cast, crutches, and strict instructions to stay off his feet for a period that seems like an eternity.  
  
::

The incident that lands him on the temporally injured list drags on and he’s left alone at home with a house full of half packed boxes and no way to do anything about it because there is no one around to help.

Even Bucky is called in, which means it’s serious. He’s still not 100% combat ready, but sometimes they have no choice. And as volatile the Winter Soldier can be, it’s easier to talk him down then many of the foes they come up against. Especially the Asgardian ones.  

The moving date looms closer and closer. His sister offers to drive down and help out but Sam doesn’t want to drag her away from her life, no mater how much he calls her up to complain about how hard it is trying to move house with one working leg. He has enough trouble with getting up and down the stairs. And taking a shower with the waterproof cover he ordered online is still more of a nuisance then its worth, so he finds himself taking birdbaths in the bathroom sink just to keep the funk off.

He just about caves in to begging his landlord for _another_ months reprieve (because there is no way he’s going to get everything packed up and out on time) when Pepper shows up at his door.  
  
She’s dressed in the most casual outfit he’s ever seen her in. But even with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail and wearing worn jeans and a tee, she more put together than he can be on his best days.

She parks him down on his couch (he got rid of the futon around the same time that he got a bigger bed) and hands him a clipboard with instructions to write down everything that gets moved to his new place and everything that gets sent elsewhere.

Pepper is meticulous in a way that he envies. She goes through the rooms he hasn’t gotten to, yelling out descriptions of items to box up, donate or trash. He listens from the couch, adding to the list, not allowed to move unless he has to go to the bathroom. She’s almost as bad as his mother about it, but she keeps the music going in the background and food in his stomach. So it’s not so terrible. Plus the new couch is sinfully comfortable.

By the time the sun sets she’s gotten both bedrooms done (aside from the beds that need to be broken down) and a few volunteers from the Salvation Army show up to take away the clothes and furniture he was planning on sending their way. She forces his pain medication on him (the same pills he has been avoiding since the doctor wrote the script, just because he hates the loopy feeling they give him.) He falls asleep sometime after they face time the team and a late night show host he’s too tired to identify starts his opening act on the tv.

::

When he drags himself out of his opiate induced sleep, Rhodey and Pepper are cuddled up on the loveseat in the corner, whispering to each other over the morning news and sharing a cup of coffee. He’s not sure when he showed up, but isn’t surprised. He spends a lot of time at the Capital, a chunk of it covering for their collective asses. Sam’s place becomes an easy stop when he wants some sense of normality.

He watches them for a minute; not all the way awake but able to admire the familiar scene. He’s still not sure how Tony of all people became the glue in their relationship, but he’s not in any position to question anything, seeing as how he’s got a rotating list of people filling up his romantic life. Besides, they tend to be the best at tethering Tony back down to the world when his thoughts get out of hand before he can go and do something stupid.  
  
Which is often.

He lays there, almost feeling content knowing that they are there. But eventually his bladder starts protesting its fullness and the smell of still hot coffee gets to him. He squirms enough to gain their attention and Pepper hops out of James’ lap to check on him.

“I’m fine,” he says as he sits up slowly, brushing away her hovering hands. “Just need to use the bathroom.”

She hands over the crutches even as she frowns down at him. He gets to his feet and makes the slow progress down the hall to handle his business.

When he’s all washed up and heads back out, she forces him back to the couch with a bottle of water and more pills despite his complaining.

“You won’t get coffee until you take them.”

He scowls at her, but downs them with the water anyway. She hands him the remote when he’s done just as Rhodey comes out of the kitchen with a box of pastries and another cup of Joe that is made just the way he likes it. He eats and drains his mug, flipping through the cable channels the whole time.

Rhodey starts taking down his Ikea bookshelves while Pepper starts packing up the rest of his books. She hands him the clipboard again, but the food in his stomach and the meds rushing through his bloodstream pretty much knock him out once more despite the caffeine and his attempts to take control of his own freaking move.

::

When he comes to again Clint’s dog is sprawled out between him and the back of the couch.  
  
He sneezes at the hair tickling his nose before turning his head, only then registering the amount of noise going on around him.

He jerks up, catching sight of Darcy as she’s perusing his CD collection. Lucky jumps up with him, giving him a grumpy face before he stretches and abandons the couch altogether.

Darcy looks his way with the sudden movement.

“Oh good, you’re finally up! Because honestly I can’t figure out which of these you’d want to keep. Personally I’d get rid of all of them because streaming is a thing, you know. But I figure you have some sort of sentimental value to them. Why else would you have─” she pauses, looking over the plastic case in her hand. “Steely Dan’s greatest hits? I don’t even know who that is.”

“Uh…” It’s about all he manages to get out. His throat is dry and he’s confused. Waking up to Darcy of all people darting words at him that way is a little distressing, but he’s even more worried about the commotion coming from his kitchen.

“Hold that thought,” she says as she stands. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
Sam watches her go before reaching for the half empty water bottle left over from breakfast. He chugs it in a few gulps and is going for the crutches propped up against the armrest just to figure out what the hell is going on when Steve appears before him.

Sam blinks, looks towards the other room before focusing his gaze back on him.

“Okay, how long have I been out?” He narrows his eyes, noting the butterfly bandage over Steve’s left cheek and the slight bags under his eyes. “Did Pepper drug me?”

“No.” He smiles as he kneels down at the side of the couch, pushing him gently back in to the cushions. “She only gave you what you were prescribed.”

“Then why are you here? You guys─”

Steve plants a kiss on him, and yeah that trick totally works both ways.

“Stop worrying,” he says when he pulls back, one hand still on his chest and the other wrapped around his thigh with a comforting squeeze. “We all made it back in one piece. And we’re going to finish up the packing.”  
  
Sam can’t find the energy to protest. Besides, he can hear the voices in the other room and he knows he has a full house. He makes out an argument going on between what should be packed up and what should be left out until the movers come because there is still food that needs to be cooked.

“You want to get up,” Steve asks.

“Nope,” he replies, closing his eyes, suddenly more at ease than he’s been in days. And even more willing to let them do the hard labor. “Only thing I need is for someone to feed me and keep Darcy away from my music. Why is she here anyway?”

“I think she’s helping Pepper out now that her internship with Jane is over.”

Sam makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. Steve presses a quick peck to his lips before he stands. Sam listens as he walks away and he doesn’t even have to look to know he’s squaring himself up to corral the madness going on a few feet away.  
  
He chuckles quietly to himself as he rolls over and tries to ignore the weight of the cast on his right leg. He dozes off as they finally decide on Chinese delivery, seeing as no one wants to deal with washing dishes. Lucky eventually makes his way back onto the couch and Sam cracks his eyes open long enough to shoot him a scathing look.

Which he ignores... the little shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer, still not beta'd and pretty much hot off the press. So let me know of any mistakes. And thanks for all the kudos and comments!


End file.
